


The Old Familiar Tweet

by autumndynasty



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Character Study, Epilogue, Gen, Post-Canon, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 19:46:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8858392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumndynasty/pseuds/autumndynasty
Summary: And in the Unknown, life goes on (in a way).Beatrice comes to terms with herself and the life she (in a way) now has.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trelkez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trelkez/gifts).



Beatrice is not the sort of person to reflect. She's more the sort of person who does things than thinks about them. That's not to say she's stupid, like Michael said over dinner last night (and he's only six, so what does he know, really?), just that she needs to learn to think before she acts and that it's very frustrating to be presented with problems that require thought over practical action.

-

All boys are idiots when they're young. Her brothers certainly are and those two idiots she guided through the woods are no exception. Her two precious idiots; they became her honorary brothers, even though she has plenty enough of those already.

Beatrice knows they forgave her. Sometimes the doubts creep in though, and she has to dig in her jewellery box for the scissors shaped like a stork. She pulls them out and holds them tightly in her human hand, letting the metal dig in until she's convinced again.

She wonders how they are in the land of the living. She wishes she could visit.

-

One positive outcome of the whole sorry affair - one small, tiny, minute silver lining on an enormous coal-cloud - is that the Unknown's forest is no longer a nerve-wracking place. There's no Beast of the Woods to fear. Sure, it's not a place to hide when she needs a break from her family anymore (even silver linings have downsides and her siblings following her around is definitely one of those), but it does open up her world a little more.

She visits people; well, she visits Anna and the woodsman. The man is still a bit gruff and unwelcoming but Beatrice knows that's just his way. She refuses to be cowed by him just because he's got a grumpy face - how ridiculous that would be. Besides, it's nice to talk to people her own age.

It's there she meets Lorna.

-

"I wonder what happened to my little turtles," Lorna muses aloud over tea one day.

"Your aunt ate them," Beatrice snorts into her own cup. Lorna looks startled for a moment, then laughs.

"Oh, not those! I meant Wirt and his brother. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Beatrice sets her cup down and leans back in her chair.

"They left the Unknown," she shrugs. "I'm sure they're living their lives and forgotten all about us."

"That's a nice thought," Lorna says.

"Is it?"

Lorna's aunt comes to refill their teapot and set down a fresh plate of sandwiches. Beatrice can't bring herself to look at either of them. 

-

"Eat up now," their mother says, placing a dish of potatoes on the already bowing table of food. Their first Sunday dinner as a human family again and it seems Beatrice's family are intent to make up for every human-food meal they missed as birds.

"I might feel like it if you stopped calling it dirt," Beatrice says, rolling her eyes.

"Mmm, dirt!" her sister May laughs, swirling the spoon in the sweet potato mash before her. Beatrice fights the urge to kick her under the table. It's herself she really wants to kick. Instead she says, 

"Real birds don't eat dirt anyway."

"Real birds eat worms. Would you like Peter to go dig some up in the garden for you?" her mother retorts sweetly. 

Beatrice laughs and it's only a little bitter.

-

On All Hallows Eve, Beatrice visits Anna. Lorna visits too and together they sit on the porch, drinking cocoa and watching the shadows of trees shift across the clearing. The moon is bright and full, a proper harvest moon, and Beatrice can't stop her eyes drifting to it's brilliance.

"Why don't we try some fortune-telling?" Anna says. Lorna and Beatrice look to eachother before Lorna quietly says,

"I think I've had enough of the supernatural, if that's alright."

"Besides," Beatrice says, "throwing chestnuts in the fire and seeing how they pop? Sure, chestnuts know who your future husband is going to be."

"We could just eat them, then," Anna sighs. Lorna bites her lip.

"Sorry, Anna," she says. Beatrice sighs. Both of her friends need to buck up and as usual, it'll be her that sorts it.

"Well. Curses and fortune-telling are all well and good but ghosts are more interesting, right? And Hallowe'en is when they're about."

"Are there ghosts in the Unknown?" Anna asks, perking up."Other than cursed ones?"

"I've no idea," Beatrice shrugs."But it stands to reason, if there are curses and magic in the world, there should be other supernatural things like ghosts, doesn't it?"

They stare out at the darkness for a while, clutching their cooling mugs of cocoa for the last of their warmth. Apart from the wind in the trees and the occasional hoot of an owl, there is silence all around.

Eventually, Lorna says,

"I remember Auntie telling me that ghosts are images of people on the other side of the veil."

"Veil?" Beatrice asks.

"Between life and death," Lorna says. "So what if ghosts in the living world are images us? Are we their ghosts?"

"Creepy," Anna shivers.

"You're the one who brought up fortune-telling!" Beatrice groans.

-

The next night, Beatrice sits at her window and leans her head against the glass. Lorna's idea of ghosts won't leave her alone.

She remembers ghost stories too. And as much as she doesn't want to think about being dead (she feels very much alive, thank you), it makes a certain kind of sense. And it gives her some hope. In ghost stories, some ghosts can communicate with the living. 

And she knows two living people she'd like very much to talk to again. Even though they're idiots.

She gets up slowly, as if in a dream, and goes to her jewellery box. She pulls out the bird scissors, glinting gold in the candlelight. They're just scissors now, the magic all used up. But maybe, just maybe there's enough left for this? 

She returns to the window seat and pulls her knees up to her chest. She holds the scissors to her heart, clutching at the tiny handles.

"Wirt? Greg?" she whispers. She waits. 

There's the sound of her family clattering around downstairs. The snatches of a song. A crow caws outside the window, still awake in the darkness. But no boys.

She's about the throw the scissors down in frustration when she feels it. 

A light touch on her shoulder. 

Beatrice freezes, thinking perhaps she imagined it. But no, she feels it in her heart - a touch on her shoulder, definitely Wirt's hand. She closes her eyes, can hear the faint giggle of a little boy that she knows is Greg.

And at the same time, she knows the truth. Wirt's hand is on her grave. Greg stands to his side. He places a rock with a crudely drawn face on the earth above her bones.

She almost drops the scissors again. It's horrible to think about being dead. But there they are, her two wonderful idiots. She lifts a hand to her own shoulder and covers the invisible hand with her own. She feels Wirt's hand tighten.

It's a promise to see her again, one day. Not for many years. But one day.

And that's a rock fact.

-

"Just make sure to come back tomorrow," her mother waves her from the door. May is peeking round her mother's full skirts, wide-eyed and thumb firmly in mouth. Beatrice rolls her eyes.

"Of course, it's just a sleepover. Auntie Whispers will keep an eye on us," she groans.

"I know, dear. I know. And don't forget to give her those apple puffs now. Don't you girls eat them all."

"Yes, mom," Beatrice spins dramatically on her heal and trots down the path, box of pastries snug in her bag.

"Bye bye," May calls.

Beatrice pauses and bites her lip. She finds she doesn't want to leave it like this again. She can't; enough is enough.

She runs back to her mother and with a small leap, hugs her. She's taller than her mother now and when did that even happen?

"I'm so sorry," she says.

"So you've said," he mother says drily. "Well, I am," Beatrice says thickly. She can feel tears welling up in her eyes and she buries her head on her mother's shoulder. "I'll never stop saying it."

"You should," her mother says and gently pulls away, hands on Beatrice's shoulders. "What's done is done. You made a mistake and you fixed it. That's a very adult thing to do, you know. Heaven knows your father and I make mistakes. Never one quite so dramatic, mind you," she teases and Beatrice tries to shrink in her mother's grasp, "But that doesn't mean we don't love you. We forgive you, Beatrice."

And for once, Beatrice believes it. She pulls forward to hug her mother again, can feel May come and hug her legs.

"Will you ever let me forget it though?" she laughs wetly.

"Never," her mother says lightly, rubbing reassuring circles on her back.

-

Beatrice sits heavily on a fallen log, her dog bounding about around her, snuffling in the fallen leaves. He might not need rest, but she does. She sets the basket of bread on the ground and contemplates the mushrooms growing near her feet. She can't decide if they're edible ones or not, so it's best to err on the side of caution and not pick them. She prods one with a finger though, idling. She'd volunteered to be the one to go to market just to get away from the craziness of the mill for a bit and she's in no hurry to return.

There's a rustle in the bushes nearby and a couple of bluebirds fly out, up into a tree above. They trill lightly at eachother, hopping on the branches. Beatrice looks up at them with a scowl. 

"Hoping to curse me?" she calls. The birds ignore her.

Beatrice sighs, letting the tension out from her shoulders. She smiles ruefully to herself. 

Reaching into her basket, he pulls off a corner of the bread loaf and crumbles it with her hand onto the floor at her feet. 

She stands and whistles to the dog before heading off.

At the edge of the clearing, she pauses to look back over her shoulder.

The bluebirds are pecking at the crumbs. Beatrice heads home, whistling a Christmas carol to herself.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is part of a lyric from Bird Song by Florence and the Machine. I thought it worked well for a title, although I bet some of you wondered when Twitter was gonna feature...
> 
> Dear Trelkez, Happy Yuletide! Hope this is something you enjoy! :) May your season be merry and bright.
> 
> Do...Beatrice's siblings ever get named? Well. I named a few! And I just wanted an excuse to work in Lorna. I admit it. I've been wanting to write OtGW fic for ages and Yuletide has provided the perfect excuse! Actually getting down to it though was pretty daunting. Still. The itch is now scratched! Maybe it'll flare up again sometime soon...?


End file.
